Counting Difficulties

Last night at dinner, I was talking with Deanna when she suddenly snickered. I stopped talking and listened. Daelyn was counting, under the watchful eye of his father.

“Ten, weeweven, twelvwe, sevwenteen ...”

“No, son,” Don said, “what comes after twelve?”

“Sevwenteen,” Daelyn started again.

“No, son,” Daddy patiently commented. “Thirteen comes next.”

“Oh.” Daelyn continued, “Thirwteen, sevwenteen, six ...”

“No, son,” long-suffering Daddy said, yet again. “After thirteen comes fourteen.”

“And you already said six,” threw in Dane, standing at my right shoulder.

"Say eleven again, baby," Deanna giggled. "I just love the way you say eleven."

“Okay, okay,” Daelyn seemed to be getting frustrated. “ Weeweven, twelvwe, thirwteen, fourteen, sevwenteen.”

One corner of Don’s mouth moved into a half-grin, looking more frustrated than boisterous. I watched for any twitching veins in his neck or on his forehead. Deanna’s eyes were twinkling with merriment and the kitchen table had become deadly silent except for the Daffy Duck imitation.

“Let’s try this again. Ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen ... then, son, then you get to seventeen.”

Daelyn looked a little perplexed. I was amazed he had stood up this long under the pressure. I expected a geyser of emotion to erupt any moment.

“Try again, Daelyn. Ten, eleven ...”

Daelyn caught my eye from across the table, lowered his chin, and grinned at me, as if to say, “See, Mom, I’ve got this tiger by the tail.” I was floored. Here, I thought he was frustrated, but it was all just a great, big, family game to him.

“One, two, three ...” Daelyn started. By the time he reached thirteen, Dane was prompting him before every number. Don glanced up at me and our eyes met above Dane’s head. He had that “I’m never going to survive this last child” look. I smiled reassuringly at him. The first two managed to learn to count to 100 without throwing in seventeen after every second number - Daelyn will, too.

“Mommy,” Don began, “I think you’re going to have to work with this little guy.”

I sighed. Yes, of course I do. Just like I taught the other two - during the 23 hours a day Daddy’s gone (or at least it seems like that long). It’s not enough he knows his full name, the names of his parents, his siblings’ names and ages, his address, and his phone number - all two years before he starts kindergarten. Mommy has to get sevwenteen in the proper place.

Regardless of how smart and well-drilled our children are, there’s always more to learn, always more for MOMMY to teach, as I frantically try to accomplish my other duties.

Mercy, Lord. Lots of it. Falling like raindrops from Heaven.